It could just be me, but it seems to flow up until this point and then catches. It seems it would benefit from those two lines being combined. Though my opinion on this is probably worth very little, as I've never been much into poetry.

Regarding the OP, the prose reads more like someone who is accepting their death rather than happy with life. It is something I would expect more from someone that was terminal and giving up or someone ready to commit suicide. I probably shouldn't say that, and hopefully you don't take offense. The last line pretty much read to me as "It is wonderful to be human (for one can die)."

It could just be me, but it seems to flow up until this point and then catches. It seems it would benefit from those two lines being combined. Though my opinion on this is probably worth very little, as I've never been much into poetry.

I can see what you mean, that was not intentional but now that I see it, I think it works. It feels like it gives a bit more weight to the last two lines.

Regarding the OP, the prose reads more like someone who is accepting their death rather than happy with life. It is something I would expect more from someone that was terminal and giving up or someone ready to commit suicide. I probably shouldn't say that, and hopefully you don't take offense. The last line pretty much read to me as "It is wonderful to be human (for one can die)."

This i agree with. Some would see it this way. I guess that's what makes good poetry, you can see it whichever way possible to you.

Something I wrote a few months ago for a poetry workshop I was attending.

Looking Through the Water

Sunday - July 23, 1994
I nearly drowned at the beach.

My arms thrashed the water as though I was
attempting to discipline the unruly sea.

A 5-year-old boy. An ageless sea.

The brown water glittered from beneath,
countless grains of sand
each sinking slower than me.

The waves kept sweeping in toward land,
yet I inched steadily further from the shore.
My head bobbed, despite my struggling,
carried easily by the riptide,
my weight and vigor devoid of meaning,
a forgotten beach ball, a fallen coconut, a loose buoy.

Each time my ears were above the water,
I heard people laughing further away.

Friday - May 24, 2002
I was walking in the rain the day before my birthday.

Droplets the size of peas pelted me
for two hours as I walked home,
savoring the moss-scented air,
with no umbrella hovering over me,
no hood clinging to my jacket.
From the iron thunderclouds,
the downpour engulfed me
like a thousand tiny rivers .

I watched the droplets dive into puddles,
disappearing into a natural mirror but
still somehow there, I know,
beyond my reflection's face.

Would it be possible to remove even
a single raindrop from those puddles
and have it stay the same?

December 21, 2012
Today the world is supposed to end again.
The clouds bring not fire, but rain.

But the restaurant owner speaks
the same way he would
in every other pho place,
on any other day.

On the worn table before me,
in this off-white Asian restaurant,
is some clean water
within a dirty glass.

Rivulets glisten outside on the windowpanes,
clean water falling on our dirty landscape.

I hardly heard a thing my friend told me
while we slowly drank and ate,
nor could I feel the sting of onion.

I could only focus on the particles
swirling
in my glass,
all that remained of an animal
or a forgotten plant.

I find there all pretty interesting to me usually i tend to write optimistic/negative.Also i can relate to over-thinking also thinking to much about me or close surroundings i try not to think negative thing &it happens more.I suposed il have too try what you proposed not giving impotence too much to thought unless its for good reason or taping energies/meditating.Im also starting to believe more into less positive-negitive & more joy-suffering.The dream you mentioned about drowning it almost like what happened to me.listening opening the imagination again let go of self pity enjoy anime all this plus learning culture & languages could be to much.I have a poem also i have to find i wrote a wille back about these things.i would love to see feel real joy again give out that energy.Thanks for the thought,why fight or over-think that poem was great it helped me to view thing in a different perspective :)

It's a Devils moon
as night falls the streets grow black with the shadow's of a dark moon
so I step out onto the street
and to the passer by's I give
a wink , a nod , and a mischievous grin

for it's time I played the devil again

The wind whistles , and whales
cutting through the emptiness
like the whispers of a thousand cry's for help
and so with my soul full of sin
so I step out onto the street
and to the passer by's I give
a wink , a nod , and a mischievous grin

for it's time I play the devil again

To those who know the bastard with in
I'm wicked , self righteous, and evil
a true LEGEND in my own mind I am the kingpin
so I step out onto the street
and to the passer by's I give
a wink , a nod , and a mischievous grin

for it's time I played the devil again

On the surface I appear
plan , simple , and quit
little more than a country bumpkin
but when I step out onto the street
it's to the passer by's I give
a wink , a nod , and a mischievous grin

for it's time I played the devil again

Cause like a Djenn I'll twist they're
wishes , they're heart's desire , and they're sin
until I have them in a tailspin
and as they pass by's I'll give them
a wink , a nod , and a mischievous grin

for it's time I played the devil again

To you all who think we are not kin
to those who think they're full of morals and without sin
they need only look in a mirror to see what lies with in
for looking back out at them
is me
they're twin
and they can give a wink , a nod , and a mischievous grin

Something I wrote a few months ago for a poetry workshop I was attending.

Looking Through the Water

Spoiler Alert! Click to show or hide

Sunday - July 23, 1994
I nearly drowned at the beach.

My arms thrashed the water as though I was
attempting to discipline the unruly sea.

A 5-year-old boy. An ageless sea.

The brown water glittered from beneath,
countless grains of sand
each sinking slower than me.

The waves kept sweeping in toward land,
yet I inched steadily further from the shore.
My head bobbed, despite my struggling,
carried easily by the riptide,
my weight and vigor devoid of meaning,
a forgotten beach ball, a fallen coconut, a loose buoy.

Each time my ears were above the water,
I heard people laughing further away.

Friday - May 24, 2002
I was walking in the rain the day before my birthday.

Droplets the size of peas pelted me
for two hours as I walked home,
savoring the moss-scented air,
with no umbrella hovering over me,
no hood clinging to my jacket.
From the iron thunderclouds,
the downpour engulfed me
like a thousand tiny rivers .

I watched the droplets dive into puddles,
disappearing into a natural mirror but
still somehow there, I know,
beyond my reflection's face.

Would it be possible to remove even
a single raindrop from those puddles
and have it stay the same?

December 21, 2012
Today the world is supposed to end again.
The clouds bring not fire, but rain.

But the restaurant owner speaks
the same way he would
in every other pho place,
on any other day.

On the worn table before me,
in this off-white Asian restaurant,
is some clean water
within a dirty glass.

Rivulets glisten outside on the windowpanes,
clean water falling on our dirty landscape.

I hardly heard a thing my friend told me
while we slowly drank and ate,
nor could I feel the sting of onion.

I could only focus on the particles
swirling
in my glass,
all that remained of an animal
or a forgotten plant.

Are these entries all part of the same poem or three different poems? There is definitely a theme of water and perhaps "individuality vs. the collective" but if they are all one poem, the ending is quite unsatisfying. (at least to me)

That said, I LOVE the first entry - the imagery is so delightful, especially: "attempting to discipline the unruly sea." loved that. "A 5-year-old boy. An ageless sea." those two lines really show how futile it was to fight against something so much stronger and older than the boy- the sea isn't affected by him, but his life was nearly lost within it.

Now that I think about it, that really does parallel well to the second entry - "Would it be possible to remove even/ a single raindrop from those puddles/ and have it stay the same? It's kind of the opposite, I guess, so maybe I should have said perpendicular. The first entry almost begs the question: is it possible that the puddle is unchanged by adding a single drop (in this case, the boy is the drop and the ocean, the puddle).

I didn't really understand the point of the third entry at first, but now, I'm thinking that the particles that were "remains of an animal/ or a forgotten plant" could be in a way similar to how the boy would have looked if he had drowned in the sea - merely a particle in the vast body of water, eventually forgotten.

Hmm, I have to say I really enjoyed reading this! Thanks for posting!! (Oh, I forgot to say how much I loved the line: "...a loose buoy." I actually smiled when I read that!)

Something I wrote a few months ago for a poetry workshop I was attending.

Looking Through the Water

Spoiler Alert! Click to show or hide

Sunday - July 23, 1994
I nearly drowned at the beach.

My arms thrashed the water as though I was
attempting to discipline the unruly sea.

A 5-year-old boy. An ageless sea.

The brown water glittered from beneath,
countless grains of sand
each sinking slower than me.

The waves kept sweeping in toward land,
yet I inched steadily further from the shore.
My head bobbed, despite my struggling,
carried easily by the riptide,
my weight and vigor devoid of meaning,
a forgotten beach ball, a fallen coconut, a loose buoy.

Each time my ears were above the water,
I heard people laughing further away.

Friday - May 24, 2002
I was walking in the rain the day before my birthday.

Droplets the size of peas pelted me
for two hours as I walked home,
savoring the moss-scented air,
with no umbrella hovering over me,
no hood clinging to my jacket.
From the iron thunderclouds,
the downpour engulfed me
like a thousand tiny rivers .

I watched the droplets dive into puddles,
disappearing into a natural mirror but
still somehow there, I know,
beyond my reflection's face.

Would it be possible to remove even
a single raindrop from those puddles
and have it stay the same?

December 21, 2012
Today the world is supposed to end again.
The clouds bring not fire, but rain.

But the restaurant owner speaks
the same way he would
in every other pho place,
on any other day.

On the worn table before me,
in this off-white Asian restaurant,
is some clean water
within a dirty glass.

Rivulets glisten outside on the windowpanes,
clean water falling on our dirty landscape.

I hardly heard a thing my friend told me
while we slowly drank and ate,
nor could I feel the sting of onion.

I could only focus on the particles
swirling
in my glass,
all that remained of an animal
or a forgotten plant.

Are these entries all part of the same poem or three different poems? There is definitely a theme of water and perhaps "individuality vs. the collective" but if they are all one poem, the ending is quite unsatisfying. (at least to me)

That said, I LOVE the first entry - the imagery is so delightful, especially: "attempting to discipline the unruly sea." loved that. "A 5-year-old boy. An ageless sea." those two lines really show how futile it was to fight against something so much stronger and older than the boy- the sea isn't affected by him, but his life was nearly lost within it.

Now that I think about it, that really does parallel well to the second entry - "Would it be possible to remove even/ a single raindrop from those puddles/ and have it stay the same? It's kind of the opposite, I guess, so maybe I should have said perpendicular. The first entry almost begs the question: is it possible that the puddle is unchanged by adding a single drop (in this case, the boy is the drop and the ocean, the puddle).

I didn't really understand the point of the third entry at first, but now, I'm thinking that the particles that were "remains of an animal/ or a forgotten plant" could be in a way similar to how the boy would have looked if he had drowned in the sea - merely a particle in the vast body of water, eventually forgotten.

Hmm, I have to say I really enjoyed reading this! Thanks for posting!! (Oh, I forgot to say how much I loved the line: "...a loose buoy." I actually smiled when I read that!)

All three are one poem. I've since revised the order (it is now actually in reverse, beginning with the December 21 entry). I actually think the second entry is the weakest, I've been trying to edit it but can't think of much at the moment. The title has been similarly changed. It is now 'Looking Back Through the Water'....thanks for reading

Here's another if people actually want to read poems lol

Empty Hands on White Sheets

I will die on a bed that isn't familiar
on a night just before something
good would have finally happened to me.

I will hold nothing.
A hand to hold belongs to a friend
too preoccupied with surgeries and prescriptions.
His hand, mere minutes away, will close around
a beer mug or wineglass when he goes home
after the last patient leaves his office.

Even the bottle, emptied of Ambien tablets,
will slip from the sheets to nestle somewhere
I have never looked, a crevice beneath the bed.

The bottle’s cap resting on the table will remain
with its declaration of 'child safe' face-up
on the dresser for nobody to decipher.
But, perhaps, that is something nobody ought to read
because even though I will die,
I will never want to fix my childish mistakes,
to surrender the comforts of drug and drink.

I think I will die on a day that is not a Saturday
because today is Saturday,
and too many drinks are had on nights like these
to sit alone and think of dying.

I will not have said or written anything
to another human being on my day of death.
My silence will be the only hint
of where and when I choose to expire.

To myself, I would have died very slowly.
To others, my death might be abrupt.